


The Death of Duty

by Kayka



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayka/pseuds/Kayka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a sellsword and a brigand, a veritable wild man from the north. The Lady Marie is smitten. Rogan. AU. No longer a one shot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Death of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Just felt like plopping a couple of my favorite mutants into a vaguely Game of Thrones-esque universe. I own nada y nadie.

The man crouched, shackled hand and neck to the wall of his cell. His head hung forward in what must have been painful repose.

Marie felt apprehensive of approaching him even now; he had been half mad and feral when the guards brought him in, growling and snapping at his captors.

She had watched in abashed fascination, having never known a single man could be so _strong_. It took a half score of guardsmen to subdue him, and they only managed after the man's exposure to one of the Maester's potions.

There had been an instant, at the end, when his eyes met her own. She found in them anger and resignation, yet a spark of defiance lingered still.

Her heart lurched in her chest when the man fell, unconscious.

 _ **Simple, tender-hearted Marie**_.

She pushed the other's snide observation away.

Marie was glad when the spectacle finished; she shuddered to imagine her lady mother calling on her to handle the task, otherwise. Her Affliction had been kept private, though she feared every day that would change.

"How frightful," Katya observed, "Were he not chained he would surely kill us all."

"Why would you think that?" Marie's brow furrowed. _The wild man only wanted to be free. Didn't he?_

_**Simple. Simple. Simple.** _

_Enough!_

"You saw his eyes, didn't you? He's mad. Poor thing. When your father returns he will be put down for sure."

_Like a rabid dog._

For now, the man would simply starve in the dungeons, and that would be that.

The thought ate at Marie for the better part of the evening before the young woman decided to take action. Starving a man before formal sentencing was unconscionable, she decided. With her lord father away marshalling support, and her lady mother otherwise occupied with her games of deceit, Marie was, in effect, acting Lady of Lodes.

She would need to be discreet; her lady mother would not look kindly upon an open usurpation, even less so with Marie being the one to take charge.

On her way down the dank stairwell, the young woman wondered at the crime the northerner was accused. _Brigandry_. After his earlier display, she had little doubt he could overtake half the hold alone, were he unfettered. His miraculous capture seemed curious.

Marie shifted her hood down when she deemed it safe. The guards' collective slack was no secret, and she knew her task would be undisturbed.

She found the man's cell easily enough- the only one occupied in all the hold.

Marie eyed him as she approached, concerned for his well-being, but rightfully wary.

Bearded in the northern manner, broad of shoulder, and dark of hair, he was coarser than the men of court. Marie privately thought him more finely, perhaps sturdily, fashioned than even the most diligent of knights she'd watched in the training yards.

The man's head rose, and his flashing yellow eyes bored straight into her hiding place. Marie only wanted to see him more closely and leave provisions within his reach. Though bound as he had been, she knew her vision of aid from afar would be impracticable.

Even so, she had been sure he would be asleep, as it was long after all but the o'ernight guards took respite.

Against her initial supposition, the man remained quite wakeful. He _knew_ she was there, even though she had taken great pains to tread lightly and shy away from the illuminating torches.

"This ain't a place for little girls to be running around," the voice was deep and gravelly from disuse. It set something within her aflutter.

Finding no acceptable excuse for her dawdling and lurking, Marie stepped out into the dim torchlight.

"I thought you might thirst. We do not often receive prisoners in the keep. The guards have likely forgotten you."

He eyed her shrewdly as she approached the bars. With the click of a pilfered key, she opened the barricade.

The man's eyes narrowed further, in speculation.

"Your mama know you're down here, girl?"

"If she did, she would be quite horrified," Marie assured seeking levity, though to relay such was no understatement. Though lacking in affection for her only child, her lady mother concerned herself greatly with appearances, both literal and figurative.

The wild man appeared un-amused, continuing to search her for the motive of her visit. His bright eyes piercing, as though his stare alone could discern her rationale.

"I did not wish for you to come to undue suffering," Marie attempted, soberly, lifting her basket from under her cloak and into his line of sight.

He tossed his head and snorted his disbelief.

"And how do you know I don't deserve it?" He challenged.

 _**Never show weakness, child** _ **.**

Marie thrust her shoulders back, and tilted her chin high, as she had been taught by her lady mother in happier times.

"I-I don't. Regardless, you will take what I have brought," she decreed, with growing confidence. "No one deserves to starve and languish."

"Lotta people don't think that way," the man contradicted.

" _I_ do, and it is I with whom you should concern yourself."

The man gave a sharp, derisive huff of air through his nose and turned his head away, ignoring her.

She had not anticipated such churlishness. Having already overstepped her bounds in visiting the prisoner at all, she was not to be deterred by his recalcitrance.

Those dangerous, golden eyes swiveled back to her when she stepped forward. Noting her hesitance, he flashed sharp teeth in mocking facsimile of a grin, the warning clear.

In retrospect, thinking he might be grateful for her assistance made Marie feel painfully naïve, but no less determined. Clearly, he wanted her gone- a fact to be used to her advantage.

"I shall leave sooner with your cooperation."

The man seemed to consider this.

"Got any ale in that cloak of yours?" He asked.

"I do not. I shall remember it for tomorrow," Marie assured.

"You actually _plan_ on coming back?"

"There is no other I can send that will not report to my lady mother. She would likely find it simpler if you starved. By your will or no, you are in my custody."

The man grunted. Marie interpreted the noise as assent.

She approached with the water flask, taking those few final steps that would put him within arm's reach.

She brought the container to his lips, tilting it forward to allow the liquid to flow. She felt his heavy stare piercing through her, but she was not daring enough to reciprocate it. Marie fixed her gaze determinedly on his neck, watching as he worked the liquid down his throat. For reasons she could not quite identify, the sound of the man quenching his thirst caused her face to bloom red.

He did not signal that he was finished until the container was empty.

"I will bring more water as well," she said.

He breathed deeply, making a noise of what Marie assumed was agreement. A man of few words, this northerner, but not mad, as Katya had assumed.

"What do you have in that little basket of yours?" His voice took on that deep, gravelly tone and Marie's face flushed brighter.

If she had thought satisfying his thirst has been intimate, it was trifles compared to feeding the man by hand. This had truly been a poorly conceived undertaking.

She fixed her attention on the bits of food in her hand, tracing a perfunctory path to the man's mouth.

A seeming eternity later, she pushed the last morsel between his lips, and the man nipped at her gloved fingers.

"Oh!" She jumped, in startlement.

The man chuckled deeply and Marie cut her eyes at him, in a most unladylike fashion.

Before she could tell him off for his childishness, an odd expression shadowed his face.

Lunging at her, the man bared his teeth and _growled_. Marie scrambled away, her back pressing against the metal bars, safely out of his suddenly enraged reach.

He meant to _scare_ her.

Marie composed herself as he strained at his bonds, her chin again held high.

"I shall return on the morrow," she said, with as much dignity as befitted her station.

It was not until her hasty retreat she realized that never did she think to ask the man's name.

* * *

"You really ain't afraid of me," was the greeting Marie received after she stepped off the final stair the next evening. He could not see her from his vantage, and she had taken great pains to be silent in her tread. Could his perception truly be so keen?

The young woman drew back the hood of her dark green cloak and peered curiously into the semi darkness.

The man appeared muted today, no longer quite so formidable as she had last seen him. His eyes held a more human shade she supposed from the dim illumination might be brown or hazel, the gaze no longer clearly marking him as Afflicted.

"I told you I would return."

The man let his head tilt back as far as he was able, staring fixedly at the weathered ceiling of his cell.

"You're wasting your time, girl."

The man's tone was resigned, whether to his confinement or her company remained unclear.

"You may not desire my assistance," she acknowledged. "But I offer it, all the same, as acting Lady of Lodes Darkholme."

He leveled his gaze on her and cocked an incredulous brow.

"What's in this for you?"

"I- nothing. Truly. My lady mother will not concern herself with such trivialities, especially knowing it to be my wish. There is no other to take an initiative. In my father's stead and with no viable delegations, the duty falls to me."

The man's brow furrowed in confusion. "You really believe that."

"I don't think that others should suffer, and this is hardly the first time an Afflicted has been wrongly imprisoned." She watched him carefully as she framed her speculation, "Having witnessed the efficacy of your resistance only a day ago merely rouses my curiosity as to why you allowed yourself to be captured at all."

The man glared at her then, and were she of lesser bearing Marie would have recoiled. Instead, she slipped her key into the lock and stepped into his cell.

"I'm not so naïve as you must think me, I assure you."

She did not believe him a spy- surely, her father's enemies would have better sense than to endeavor to attain information while captured. Marie was, however, certain that the man before her had allowed himself to be taken- the only uncertainty lie in his reasoning.

Their contest of wills continued for several long moments. To her own surprise, the prisoner relented first, his hot gaze sliding away from her own.

"Your merry band of fools thought to relieve me of my charge. My distraction gave the girl the chance to escape with her chaperon."

"You're a _knight_?" The thought horrified her. Unjust imprisonment of a knight of the capitol would not be looked upon gladly. Lodes' position under the Summer king was tenuous at best.

"Mercenary," he corrected. Her discomfiture a subject of obvious amusement to the northerner.

Marie released a small sigh of relief- one less trouble in a sea of them.

"It is an uncommon sellsword that would allow himself to be captured in his charge's stead."

"Don't do the job, don't get paid." From his bound position, he gave an approximation of a shrug.

Marie nodded. Unwavering commitment to duty was the realm of sworn swords and kinsmen, not a mercenary. Unwavering commitment to coin, on the other hand-

"Supposing you speak true, the fact remains that you are not a brigand."

The man grinned in dark amusement.

"Not lately."

Curiosity satisfied for the moment, Marie moved on to the primary reason for her visit.

"I remembered the ale," she announced, determined to tend the man she now believed to be unjustly detained.

Though his sharp teeth did graze her gloved hand on more than one occasion, on this eve he did not snap at her during her ministrations. She supposed that she may have earned some modicum of his respect for returning, at all.

"What is your name?" She asked in between offerings.

"Don't matter."

"What shall I call you, then?"

"Whatever you want, princess."

Marie's nose scrunched. Afflicted daughter and sole heir to the Lord of Lodes, she was more so a prisoner than he.

"I am no princess." They lapsed into silence as she allowed him a hearty swig of ale.

"My name is Marie."

* * *

"Logan," said the man, when she returned the following eve.

Marie smiled. "Logan, then."

"What the hell have you got there, girl?"

Marie lugged her pilfered dinner stool into his cell. With it, and perhaps a mite of leverage from the man- Logan, she ought to be tall enough to accomplish her task.

"What amounts to a ladder. I'm going to get you down from there."

The man's expression relayed that he thought her unaccountably foolish. Perhaps she was, but her intuition rarely led her astray before, and she had a flash of certainty that this action followed the correct course. The chains bothered her greatly, and while she had yet to secure the key to remove them, she could at the very least relieve his strain due to being suspended by them.

"And what makes you think I won't take the opportunity to escape?"

Based on his contradictory nature when she offered anything resembling aid, Marie had anticipated this argument.

"You will _not_ take this opportunity to escape, as I shall release you with provisions three days hence, during the celebrations of Samhain. You shan't be missed until long after the revelry has run its course. And surely, you would prefer to feed yourself and rest properly before then."

He seemed to consider her words, and she wondered how he weighed them. It occurred to her that she could discover such, should she will it. She could even verify the veracity of his encounter with her countrymen. Marie quashed the thought; the ambition behind it felt far too much like her father's own, and Marie refused to give those echoes purchase within her own mind.

"Fine. Get on with it," Logan groused, breaking her reverie.

Marie drew off her cloak, knowing it would be too cumbersome and only a hindrance to her task. Having planned this endeavor after leaving him the night previous, she had dressed in riding pants and a blouse obtained from her handmaiden.

"I might need to lean on you, to reach," she warned.

Marie climbed upon the stool and stood, bracing her left hand against his shoulder. She reached with the other, the leather of her glove sliding ineffectually down the chain.

"Why do you always wear them damned gloves? Your grip's too slick. Take'em off."

"I cannot." Marie heard his wordless growl of frustration and trailed off, attempting to focus on the task of releasing his chain from its hook rather than the distraction of the man at her breast. To her surprise, the northerner was a gentleman, keeping his head turned away and staring steadfastly at the stone wall of the cell.

" _Almost_."

She reached forward a third time, and several things happened at once. The chain fell heavily as she freed it, causing her to be thrown off balance. Yelping and undignified, Marie anticipated a painful, bruising fall, but found herself instead gathered by strong arms- her backward momentum halted.

They stood far more intimately entwined than could ever be deemed appropriate. Logan's eyes flashed gold, in the manner that had been absent since that first day. The odd flutter of her interest returned in earnest.

The flutter transformed, and Marie was drawn away from the present, an odd doubled vision of a sumptuous chamber and a sense of urgency overlaid the man before her. There was more, so much more, rushing through her in that instant; events that would, events that _could_ , come to pass.

The oddity was whisked away as the substantive version of the man dipped his head toward her own. Realizing his intention a sharp fear blossomed in her chest, and Marie turned to avoid what would surely have been a painful, even deadly, mistake on his part.

His expression hardened, and Logan none too gently shoved her away.

Catching the direction of his thoughts, Marie tried to explain.

"No! I'm- it's not-"

"Leave," he rumbled.

"You don't unders-"

The full force of his bestial visage focused on her then. He was coiled tension, ready to snap.

"You're a Gods damned _Lady_ and clearly know better than to dally with a rogue. Now, _leave_ ," he ground out.

Awash in bewilderment and frustration, she did just that.

* * *

The following eve Marie received no greeting.

Based upon that she had discerned of his character, this made for an unsurprising development. Luckily, she had brought an offering of sorts to make amends for the oddly charged atmosphere of the night previous.

If she wished to convince him for his aid in her own newly developed plans, it would be necessary to be on speaking terms, after all.

Rather than the surly attitude she expected, Marie found the northerner bruised and bloodied, laid out in the middle of his cell.

"Logan! What _happened_?!" She screeched, less than mindful of her volume.

"The hell does it look like? The drunkards you employ as guardsmen decided to have a little fun."

Marie's eyes raked up and down, assessing the severity of his injuries.

"Don't look at me like that, girl. I gave better than I got. They couldn't run quick enough once one of'em sobered up enough to realize I could hit back."

She shoved the evening's offerings through the metal bars and hurried to the upper landing to fetch the pail of warm water.

"I shall return in a moment," she called over her shoulder.

She heard a rowdy bunch whilst gathering her supplies not half an hour previous, though she had not truly considered their path. Had they discovered her tending the northerner, it would have led to a most unpleasant audience with her lady mother.

Good fortune for her; poor luck for Logan. Though if she were found meddling, such would end poorly for them both.

"I don't need your _help,_ girl," he groused upon her return.

He'd shifted his position to lean seated upon the far wall during her short absence.

"I am aware. I originally intended for this to serve as an apology. Last night-," she said indicating the washing supplies.

"Forget it. Never happened."

Even as he spoke, his swollen eye did not seem so distorted as it had moments ago.

"If you would only permit me to _explain_."

"No need. It never happened."

Clearly, it was folly to pursue the matter with him. His attitude nettled her something fierce, but Marie buried her irritation. Instead, she found herself mesmerized by the changes in his bloodied visage- a blackened eye should not appear so when fresh.

She had thought that the strength, the keen hearing, and the flashing golden eyes were the whole of it, however-

"Is this part of your Affliction?"

"I heal," He shrugged, the chains still bound to him clinking.

"That is miraculous. You are fortunate."

He snorted. His derision in reference to his own Affliction was curious. It was far more beneficial than her own.

The man watched her intently when she entered, his posture tense.

"I mean only to rinse away the blood. Though, I had also hoped to entice you to listen to me."

"Don't got much choice _but_ to listen."

"But you _do_ choose whether or not to entertain my notions, and thus far this eve, you have been far too eager to interrupt."

"If you're gonna try and wash away the blood, take off those damned gloves, for once. Not good for the leather," he deflected.

It was not as though she _wanted_ to disclose the nature of her curse to another, but she felt compelled to convey the gravity to the man.

"I told you only yesterday that I cannot. My Affliction-"

"Makes you wear gloves all the damned time?"

Marie stared pointedly at him for the disruption of her explanation and, instead, set about finding the cleansing cloth in the pile of hastily dropped supplies.

"…Apologies for interrupting, milady."

It was apparent that such was not a statement uttered often from the man. He had turned from her again, and did Marie not know better, she would think she imagined it. She very well may have.

"My Affliction is dangerous," she continued, "It… _takes_ \- thoughts, memories, ideals, other Afflictions. Too long held and a single touch bare of skin can kill. Now, you surely understand why I will not remove my gloves."

Logan's gaze shuttered, and Marie realized that any the progress she had made was to be lost. She did not blame the man. Revelation of her curse would deter anyone.

Depositing the cleansing supplies, Marie turned to leave. She had been foolish to even think she could convince him to take her along with him, especially once he learned of her nocuous skin.

_**Stupid girl, you should have secured the barbarian's assistance, first.** _

Faster than she thought possible, Logan gripped her clothed wrist, his hold firm, yet gentle.

He thrust the cleansing rag into her hand. Unspoken apology and request all in one. Dubiously, Marie took it and dipped it into the cooling water.

She worked the cloth over his cheek, again marveling at the unblemished skin uncovered by her efforts.

"What notions do you have, girl?"

"Foolish ones," she admitted, "I wished to leave with you."

The man's brows drew in surprise an instant before he scowled, blackly.

"I may not be missed immediately, but you sure as hell will. And you would have me take you on as an indefinite charge? A little ladyling like you is unsuited to the road."

 _Those_ were his objections? Not of the dangers of her cursed skin, but the thought that she would be a troublesome traveling companion?

"No, not indefinitely. I have a destination in mind, and I would pay you handsomely for the inconvenience of the escort."

"And I could kill you and take that coin with far less trouble," he countered.

Pausing in her ministrations, she scrutinized him.

"I do not believe you would, though you _are_ set upon me believing the worst of you. Forget I spoke of it; it never happened," she tossed his words back at him. Marie thrust the cloth into his hand. His face cleaned, he could surely manage the rest.

"I'm not a knight out of one of your pretty little songs, girl. The sooner you realize that, the better."

Marie stood, slipping off the sodden gloves and thrusting them in her cloak's pocket.

"I did not _ask_ for a knight. I know what shall happen to me, should I remain here. The only reason I have not yet been turned out is my lord father foresees my usefulness should it come to war, and I will leave on Samhain with or without your assistance."

She would have to find another or set out alone, regardless of what her visions told her. Within the castle, Piotr was the only other likely candidate. He was, however, bound in service to her lord father's ward, and the thought of dragging young Katya into her uncertain plans was untenable. There _was_ no other.

Alone, it would be; drawing on the collected experiences she had taken with her Affliction. That would undoubtedly be the best course, though she feared opening her mind to those she had fought so long to block out.

"I shall return on the morrow with your provisions."

* * *

The next night the girl didn't come. Logan doubted her absence was due to spite. She was a determined little thing and wouldn't pass up one last opportunity to try to convince him to take her along, and damn him but he had half considered it.

No, the girl had been prevented from visiting. So much for his provisions, though his escape would be neater without the girl's interference.

The sun rose heralding the dawn of Samhain. He simply needed to wait for the bustle of the day to slip into the night's revelry to enact his departure.

Logan tentatively pulled at his bonds. A little maneuvering of his claws, and the metal would be no obstacle.

Once free from the chains, the day dragged slowly, leaving him with loathsome opportunity to examine his situation.

He should have killed the girl when he had the chance. He knew that he would not now, even given the opportunity.

Logan had not expected for the girl to do the work and come to _him_ , nor had he expected her to be _kind_ , of all things.

He could have been done with it that first night, but his curiosity, and her provocative scent, had gotten the better off him.

It was supposed to be _easy_. Get in, kill the heir, get out. In doing so he'd be paid as well as freed of his debt to the Outlander, Nur.

Being captured hadn't been Logan's first choice of method, though bursting into the Castle Darkholme with the exuberant Lee had admittedly carried less finesse and greater chance to be botched.

Logan to himself admitted that his detainment made things simpler and less likely to be traced back to the Outlander. Or would have been less likely, had Logan followed through with his charged duty. As it were, he had simply traded one prison for another. The former may catch up with him, however, _this_ one would be easily departed.

His failure ensured that another would be sent. The thought rankled, but he ignored it, set on his own escape. The girl was not without resources. Though she didn't even _know_ to be wary.

_Dammit._

Logan slipped from his cage once eve settled and the festivities commenced.

His plans were disrupted as soon as he set foot on top of the landing, and he scented the living dead. _Samhain_ , _when the veils were thin and the dead walked_. It seemed the mad Outlander had actually achieved his goal.

There were but a few of the uncanny soldiers, but given the raucous nature of the festivities, it could rapidly give way to a massacre. Forget war.

For an instant, Logan was torn.

He set off in the direction of the lord's family chambers, scenting his way to the girl through the castle proper, remaining shadowed and hidden.

Two guards were posted outside her door, a pair of sodding brutes he recognized keenly. The men were dead before they knew he was there, much less raise the alarm.

"Logan?"

The young woman stood from the bed, and he heard the clink of a metal tether binding her to the fixture.

Logan's vision went black with rage, and the next thing he registered was the snickt of his own retracting claws. The cuff lay neatly splayed into two parts.

"Oh," she relayed her surprise in a small voice.

 _Damn_ , he had never intended for her to know about them. _Too late for it now._ He heard the Wights down below, insinuating themselves into the crowd.

"You didn't come down and I couldn't-" He swiped a hand through his unkempt locks, frustrated that he was unable to find the words he needed to spur her into action. The truth was not an option, if he wished to retain the oddity that was her trust.

"Look, girl… Marie, you wanted to get away from here, right? I'll take you. Wherever you want to go."

"Why?" she asked, reeking of wariness.

Of course, the girl would choose _presently_ to be suspicious of him.

"Because, damn it. You said it yourself. It's not safe here for you." _Though for reasons other than those you suspect._

"But you said-"

"I changed my damned mind. And next time you mean to bribe me, try a keg of lager."

"I- Was that a _jest_? I did not realize you capable," she sniffed, contrarily.

He growled lowly; the girl frustrated him in more ways than one.

"I'm not leaving you behind," Logan blurted.

She looked him in the eyes then, rife with suspicion and disbelief. To think what he had wanted to begin with would come back to bite him in the ass. As it stood, he was seconds away from tossing the girl over his shoulder, escaping, and sorting her out later.

"What was the first thing you said to me?" The girl demanded.

"What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

"Answer me, or I go nowhere with you," she warned.

"Damn it, we don't have time for this, girl!"

Marie remained unswayed, her chin jutting out stubbornly. They really needed to leave. Immediately.

"I don't know! Something about dungeons not being a place for girls to play!"

The look of relief that crossed her features threw him.

"This is not a trap," she said.

"A _trap_? You were angling for this not two days prior."

"I- yes. Though there is another who could take on your form to toy with me."

The girl's eyes averted.

 _Shit,_ that _other_ already _had._ That would be an Afflicted to be steer clear of, but there were more pressing matters to occupy them. The walking dead below taking their first victims, for one.

"Grab only what you need and let's go."

"Yes," she agreed.

Moments later, Marie's gloved hand gripped his bare one, and they stole away to freedom in the black night.


	2. Wind and Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey, guys, remember this fic? This universe has been my demanding attention for a while now, and I'm slowly, but surely, obliging. So. This will have (at least) one more chapter after this. (It's hard to say, with how large this 'verse has grown in my head. I can say that writing the many character epic it wants to turn into seems exhausting and not likely.)

Logan trimmed his beard by the shallow pool, metal claws gleaming.

Mesmerized by his ease with his Affliction, Marie fingered her own locks in contemplation.

Her own Affliction would protect her once they separated, but it would be better to avoid detection altogether, if possible.

"No." Logan decreed before she could voice her query.

With his uncanny responses, she sometimes suspected him to be a reader of the minds.

However, a comparison to vague memories of her uncle cast great doubt upon that idle suspicion.

"And why not? It's what they do in the stories."

" Maybe for a waif, but you-" He trailed off gesturing toward her indistinctly.

"But I?" She doubted such a style would suit her; however, it was the prudent course. "Surely, it would be safer to travel thusly."

He nodded in her direction. "You'd make a piss poor man."

"And what makes you think that?" Marie asked, ignoring his coarse words.

"Your gait for one. You're too…," Logan grimaced, trying and failing to find an appropriate adjective, " _womanly_."

The northerner's assessment engendered a bubbling of irritation. Marie was sick to the death of being held beholden to such expectations. With precious few models to choose from, she summoned her lord father to the fore, determined to prove the Wild's Man wrong.

His bafflement felt gratifying, though the sentiment may not have been entirely her own. When the curious metal embedded in his arms began to sing to her, she chained away the consciousness that belonged to the Lord of Lodes.

"How'd you do that?"

"My affliction," Marie shrugged, laconically. The drain of restraining pilfered gifts took a toll. It was trifles compared to knowing that she had, in some measure, proven her worth to the man across from her.

"Your scent- " The man stopped himself, his brows drawing down in speculation.

"You must admit that my gait is not an issue." She pressed on principle, feeling stronger now that the other's soul was chained back into the depths of her mind.

"Too poncy," Logan denied, the strange mood between them dissipating. "You walk like a lord. And your hair suits you better long."

Marie would have thought her caution matched his aims; he'd been painstakingly taking measures to obscure their passing in the journey thus far.

However, the man could be infuriatingly intractable in his course, once his mind was set. She'd learned that well enough at the keep.

"I will protect you," he announced before she could form a new rebuttal, "Hair back, cloak up."

Marie let the matter drop, too weary from her recent display and their travels to truly pursue it any further.

They had lit from the castle with much more haste and far fewer provisions than she intended. Logan sought to establish as much distance between them and Lodes Darkholme as quickly as possible. The pace struck, coupled with the abrupt departure, mad Marie feel as though they had hounds on their heels. She would be missed presently, and such idle musings were not like to be far off the mark.

Marie also admitted, if only to herself, that while not unfit, she was unused to such venturing.

She wished, not for the first time, that they had absconded with a horse or two. A five day's ride to her uncle's hold at Westerly Rock made for a much longer walk- a walk that could be for naught if the man she had met but once refused to render her aid.

They had stopped by this spring for a welcome reprieve. Having not truly slept since before her lady mother restrained her days prior, Marie felt woefully unfit to travel another step.

Just as she began to doze, Logan's tense energy roused her.

"Stay here. And keep your wits about you. This spot should be safe enough, though I wouldn't swear by it. I'll be close and return before noontide."

Marie's brows drew, concerned.

"Where are you going?"

"Hunting. We need meat."

* * *

Logan could not retreat quickly enough from their makeshift camp. He did not like leaving Marie vulnerable, especially as worn out as she seemed. His beast, however, was soothed at the thought of hunting and hunting _for_ _her_.

It was the reaction of the monster to Marie that concerned him most. His sudden attachment was inexplicable, yet undeniable.

His instincts told him to keep close to the maiden and not leave her. But then those same instincts also told him to bed her repeatedly until she was heavy with his child; therefore, Logan did not think his baser nature terribly reliable with regard to her.

Because, ultimately, he would leave her behind.

She had her course, and he had his. They intersected only briefly, and once he saw her safely arrived at her destination, that would be that.

He would go his own way evading the Outlander, and she'd stay behind- vulnerable to the Aberration's machinations.

_That won't do._

It was a sound plan. The _right_ plan; however, Logan already _knew_ that he could not bring himself to abandon the young woman.

On this, the monster that lurked beneath his flesh would not budge. Were he to try to simply walk away, the beast would assuredly, take and keep, hold.

He was damned in either case. She could not remain with him, and he could not let her go.

He narrowly avoided tromping through the forest in his agitation. Scenting rabbits close by, Logan stilled to avoid startling them back down their burrow.

Marie was unused to such rough terrain. He should have allowed a horse, despite the attention it would have brought along with it.

The undead likely killed them, anyway, along with all the rest unlucky enough to be caught in their path.

Not much shook him, but those creatures were unnatural in a way far beyond any Afflicted he had ever encountered in his admittedly spotty memory. Logan had heard whispers of the Outlander's Affliction, though if the rumors proved true, it gave Nur a sway unlike any he had ever seen.

Logan's hunting was brief and fruitful, despite his uncharacteristic mental distractions. Reluctant to leave the girl to her own devices longer than necessary, he returned swifter than was prudent with regard to his baser inclinations.

What he found had the beast testing his restraints.

"Girl! Marie!"

The Lady stood immobile, impossibly rigid. As he rushed closer, he found her eyes rolled back into her head, unseeing.

The world sharpened further as the creature within him bled into his vision. He did not try to wrest back control; they were like of mind in this.

Marie's scent drifted queerly to his senses. Unlike the hints of iron and copper he'd scented in her earlier demonstration, this new undercurrent was softer, rolling and ethereal, reminding him strongly of a warm summer breeze.

She swayed on the spot, her rigidity subverted by abrupt languor. Logan closed the remaining space between them, sweeping her into his embrace just in time to prevent Marie from falling to the ground and injuring herself.

Mindful the warnings of her skin, Logan arranged the young woman carefully in his arms, settling them both under the generous boughs of an ancient oak.

A keening whine rent the air, and he was surprised to find it issued from his own throat.

Hers was unlike any fit he had encountered. There were no convulsions, nor frothing, her breathing remained even and peaceful- her eyes showing eerily white were the only indication that the woman in his arms was under a spell and not merely sleeping. He had no idea what to do to bring her back.

Logan was praying to Gods he long ago forsook when Marie's pace of breathing finally increased and her eyes slid back to their proper place.

"Logan," her gloved hand grasped his bare one, as her feverish gazed focused on him. Her voice issued strangely, ominously to his hearing. "You must trust me. We cannot out run them. We will allow ourselves to be captured. We can escape once-"

His brow furrowed as he tried to interpret the information her scent conveyed. It roiled and shifted. The scent of breezy summer fading precipitously to the one he knew as belonging to Marie and _only_ Marie.

"Out run who?"

"I- oh." Marie's eyes cleared, finally herself. "I don't remember."

* * *

The eve's fire was small, providing scant, though appreciated, warmth. The day grew unseasonably chill, and her reluctant savior had even more reluctantly kindled the flickering flames. They had struck a good pace this day, after their earlier rest. Marie ached from their travels, but felt invigorated, even so.

"You can see what is to come?"

The doubt in his voice was evident. She had avoided the topic of her earlier vision after its occurrence, and the haste of their travels did not permit much in the way of conversation. It had been too great a hope that the northerner would let the matter drop.

"No, not-" she started, endeavoring to find the most adequate way to explain, "yes. Though, it is not simply so."

"I thought your affliction was in your skin." Logan observed.

" _Min_ e is. The Sight was my governess's gift. I-" _killed her,_ though she could not bring herself to say it. "The visions came to me through her. Upon her death."

"That what you meant when you said your affliction takes?"

He was no dullard, and she narrowly avoided cringing at his perceptiveness.

"Yes," she affirmed. "Glimmers of others' afflictions remain, however, hers is the most... _present_. I can control it no better than my own skin. Eirene could control her Sight and remember as keenly as a memory; however, _I_ rarely keep what I see."

Her governess' death had been an accident, when Marie's affliction first manifested. She had never told the account to another, but now, with the northerner, the words tumbled from her lips unbidden.

"I was a naïve little fool." Marie began, "nursing a fancy for the blacksmith's son. He reciprocated, to his detriment."

Logan's jaw clenched, and his eyes had taken on that golden sheen Marie thought to signal the hidden wildness within him.

"It was improper, I know, my lady mother thoroughly availed me of the scandal that would have happened had he lived. We shared barely a kiss, but just that brush whisked him, and everything he was, away." Marie paused, what had occurred next was a greater burden on her soul, still. "Nearly as soon as it happened, Eirene found me with the boy and separated us. She must have seen it moments before with her Sight."

_But not soon enough._

The man across from her remained silent.

"She made the mistake of grabbing my bare arm," Marie summarized, "Neither of us could pull away. "

_Destiny_. _Legacy._ The words had floated into the haze of pain and chaos in Marie's mind.

Her governess had known her own end since the day Marie was born, and yet the woman loved her, _cared for her,_ regardless.

Marie could not fathom such devotion. If Eirene had simply avoided her, she would be alive and happy still.

She remembered the horrible heat and swirl of thoughts and memories pulled from both her victims. And the screaming after.

The bite of her lady mother's nails. Her lord father brushing her skin and sharply pulling away. Her developing affliction had been too full just then, or surely the only parents Marie had ever known would have suffered the same fate. The only obvious marking of the encounter was the new white streaking at Marie's temples.

"I soon discovered that parts of them lived on through me."

Marie had never disclosed to any other before the exact nature of her affliction.

Her Lady mother turned cold and wanted none of the details, so aggrieved as she was at the death of her closest companion. Her lord father became ever more remote. Though Marie did not _need_ their words to discern their blossoming disdain and fear; she felt it from their shadows living on in her mind.

The northerner was quiet at the end of her story; uneasiness roiled through her. She watched him nervously from behind the fall of her hair. If she had desired his abandonment, she all but just assured it with such frank disclosure.

"Calm yourself, girl. Take more'n your story to make me run screaming. Food's done, so get to it."

The night had deepened with her recount, the stars shining boldly in the cold, autumn sky.

* * *

"Wake up." The gruff command rumbled into her ear.

Marie was warm and comfortable, bundled closely to her spicy scented bedding. She shifted, as the command issued again, more urgently. Something sharp-a rock- jabbed her side as the warmth abruptly disappeared.

Liminal twilight greeted her vision, the world around them not quite awake. Rousing herself, she found the man crouched defensively in front of her. Her cloak had been spread beneath them as a makeshift pallet.

She had been reluctant to fall asleep next to him in the first place, at first rebuking his offer to sleep by her side. Though several hours later when the night had grown too cold to bear, she had welcomed the northerner's warmth gladly. She promised herself not to fall back asleep, and keep mindful of her skin, regardless of being covered from neck to toe.

The few that knew the danger her Affliction posed had never been so brazen as to willingly touch her. Those that did not followed the lead of the rumors and avoided her. Marie was uncertain what to make of the sleeping man nuzzling into her neck. As starved for touch as she was, Marie did not know how to react now that she had it. However, in increments, she relaxed into his hold.

At some interval she drifted, despite her intention, a strange contented rumbling lulling her into a peaceful sleep.

Logan spared her a glance, golden eyes quickly shifting away. The tense set of his shoulders reminded her of the urgency with which he woke her.

"Horses. Lot'of'em." He announced by way of explanation, nodding toward the direction from which they had travelled. "Still a ways off, but coming this way. If we remain hidden-"

Cold dread trickled down her spine, as a flash of future memory washed over her. The vision was impossible, a bald glimpse at that which she desired though she had no right. Impossible though it may seem, the sight had always rung with truth before. Marie sensed, however, that if what she had seen was to come to pass, this encounter would need to be handled with the utmost caution.

"It's my lord father," Marie was certain. "My vision from earlier-"

Logan had metal in his bones. They could not hide, though she wished it.

_We can't out run them._

And they did not try.

* * *

Marie sat opposite her father in the night's tent. She and Logan were separated at the first opportunity. To her surprise the northerner submitted peacefully, led away by the Lord of Lodes once Marie had been sequestered. Thankfully, the oddity of Logan's eyes faded to their typical hue, moments before the company came upon them. The strange metal would mark him Afflicted by her father, but Marie thought the less the man knew of her companion, the lower his estimation.

They _would_ escape; her vision placed them both at her uncle's hold.

And though she knew her governess' Sight on occasion had foretold _possible_ futures, Marie's own visions had always proven true before. Therefore, she dared to hope.

The table held a bounty though she had little appetite for it. The Lord of Lodes ate heartily, unperturbed by the atmosphere.

"My grandfather could call gold from the mountains. It made him a very wealthy man."

Marie waited patiently for the Lord of Lodes to meander through this retelling of facts she'd known since she was a child. Such stories were favorites during her fairytale upbringing when she'd believed her own Affliction would take form similar to his or her lady mother's. He would have a point with this line of story; Erik was never one to boast tender feelings or recall trivialities. Marie had an inkling of where this was headed.

"My own father, Magnus, could pull ore from the earth and wrought iron with a thought. I, myself, can manipulate all metals-"

It seemed the day she had dreaded was finally coming to pass. Casting her out did not hold the weight it once had, with her new goal of freedom in mind. Given opportunity, he would use her Affliction- make her his own personal executioner- she was sure of it.

"Lord Father-"

"Spare me the contrivance, Marie. We both know I am no such thing."

Marie did not let the sting show. Even in his blackest of moods, he had never so disowned her.

"Afflictions run in families, my dear. I knew from the moment yours manifested you were not of my blood."

She had not expected the words to carry such weight. Though she knew he spoke true, she found the acknowledgement of their lack kinship difficult to face. She still strove for his approval, blood relation or no.

"You are, however, my heir. Your cavorting around the countryside with a northern barbarian cannot, _will not,_ be borne."

His assertion startled her, though she quickly channeled the emotion into a response more expected.

"He saved me!" Marie exploded, standing and slamming her palms on the hard wood of the table.

"From the Summer King's attack?"

_Attack_? _What happened in my short absence? Did Logan know of this, somehow? Was that why he had been in such a rush to leave?_

Regardless, she could hardly tell her father that her lady mother had Marie bound in chains. The woman would deny it, in any case.

"Yes," Marie affirmed, weaving a tempered version of the truth. It was a dangerous game to play; though she saw herself far away long before any attempts at corroboration. It was, however, necessary should she wish to learn more from the Lord.

"I was trapped," true enough, though never by the southron king, "and once Logan freed me, I thought it prudent to escape as quickly as possible. Ask anyone-"

"There are precious few to ask," Erik interrupted, turning away from her, "Those who weren't counted among the dead are vanished. Taken hostage most likely. Your Lady mother amongst them."

* * *

Marie lay on her pallet in her tent, plotting her escape. _Their_ escape.

She was not so delusional to think it would be simple. Her lord father stationed guards all around the perimeter of her temporary dwelling. To protect and to restrain.

Her lady mother's disappearance was of great concern. Despite her treatment, Marie had not wished the woman to fall to ill fortune. Whether the depth of the sentiment was truly her own or one of the _other's_ was moot.

And Katya. Katya had been taken, as well. Though her lord father had not explicitly said so, Marie heard the gossip before being secured into a tent of her own- no afflicted had been counted among the dead.

The southron king was as likely a culprit as any. The uneasy alliance between the two houses had been disintegrating since before Marie was born. Such was as good a reason as her any that Marie would never disclose to her lord father her intended destination of the Summer King's most trusted advisor, her uncle, and Lodes' spurned ally. Were he to know of such betrayal, his censure would have been harsher than trapping her in her tent and imprisoning her only ally.

She wanted only to disappear; to be free of the chains that mired her to her station.

The need to contact her uncle was all the greater. He was on good terms with the Summer King, unlike her own house. If Lodes Darkholme had been taken by the King of the Realm, uncle Xavier would surely be able to aide in negotiation for freedom of those captured. _After_ was a nebulous consideration, and she thought it best to not dwell on possibilities while still presently confined.

There was also the matter of Logan. She could not hope to retain him indefinitely. It was his pity she'd garnered, and it was unfair of her to-

A creaking noise and an abhorrent stench drew Marie's attention. Hair stood on end at her nape. By the time she thought to act, it was too late.

* * *

Logan reclined in a cage of metal, willed into being by the Lord of Lodes. From his prone position, Logan took the measure of the Lord's company, biding his time in seeking the most opportune moment to slip from his prison, rescue the girl, and run.

Logan was not sure he put stock in these visions of Marie's, but the fit she'd experienced the day prior had been real enough, and he was willing to go along with the farce of capture to minimize danger to her, if for no other reason.

There was also his own damnable curiosity. Logan had heard of the metal turner long before accepting the job to dispatch his daughter.

Unlike most Afflicted, the cocksure lord flaunted his power for all to see.

It had gained the man a certain level notoriety, and until present, marked him as a man Logan actively sought to avoid.

Marie had spoken true enough; the man, whose scent was ferrous, and wholly unlike Marie's, found them unerringly- drawn to the unusual metal that made up Logan's daggerlike claws.

His musings would need be revisited later- the stench of the Outlander's army tainted the wind.

They were here for the girl, and Logan's farce of capture was finished.

His claws ripped through the cage and he rushed toward the tent where Marie's scent was strongest. He had not thought the creatures would have the gall, nor the faculties, to attack again so soon.

It looked like he was wrong on both counts.

The scent of decaying flesh grew stronger the closer he got to the Lady's tent.

A soft gasp had him running all the faster. Before his yes, the undead creatures completed his forfeited task.

Marie fell.

Logan's vision veered into a haze of red as he lost control of the beast within. The destruction of the creatures in the vicinity of the girl happened in a flurry of loathing. They died with inhuman screams at his claws, and did not rise again. Eventually, distant sound trickled back to his perception- ravaging of the encampment, not that it mattered.

With none left alive, or unalive, to dispatch, his rage dimmed, leaving unsettling anguish in its wake.

_My Affliction takes._

How long had it been since she'd fallen? Scant minutes at most; there was _chance_.

He gathered the woman in his arms, his hand cupping her face. Nothing happened.

"Wake up."

Desperate, he tore off her gloves and ripped away the sleeves of her fine blouse. Nothing happened still.

"Use your Affliction, damnit!"

Logan pulled her more full into his grasp resting his forehead on her own, desperate for her already cooling skin to _take_ as she had so described.

"Please, Marie."

So slowly, he thought his imagination played tricks with his senses, a faint tickling grew wherever her skin touched his own. The tingle soon became a wrenching, gaping maw that drew him away, and Logan went gladly.

* * *

Marie woke to chaos without and within.

The monsters that had surrounded her moments before lay dead at her feet and Logan-

She'd _killed_ him.

_Run._

The dead man's directive rang in her head. The world roared loud and foul to her newly acquired senses. Protrusions of bone erupted from the flesh between her knuckles, the sounds of approaching battle spurring her to action.

By pure reflex, she fought her way through a new convergence of creatures she did not have a name for. They may have been men once, but they were no longer.

They rose as quickly as she could fell them, pursuing her flight. Near the far edge of the camp, the monsters abruptly retreated. Marie took the respite at face value, pausing to catch her breath.

Her mind roiled with the onslaught of knowledge from the remnants of the new soul, now trapped alongside her own.

_Logan had betrayed her from the very start._

Marie fled the camp, never looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is meant to stand alone, but I do have two roughly outlined continuations for this story. If there is an interest, I'll try to actually write and post them as additional chapters after I'm finished with Stuck in the Middle With You.
> 
> Update 3/31/16: Fixed some typos and diction. Currently working on Part II.


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